


Innuendo episodes from the First Great Westeros Fair

by Maracuya



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, F/M, Innuendo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-05 06:33:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14038266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maracuya/pseuds/Maracuya
Summary: The first World Fair was in London in 1851. In a parallel universe, Ned Stark and his family attend the fair and make various experiences.It's designed as a triptych.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littlebirdhound](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlebirdhound/gifts), [AllTheDances](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllTheDances/gifts).



> Inspired by http://splattermemes.tumblr.com/post/166007644957/sexual-tension-sentence-starters  
> Prodded into including some more by AllTheDances.  
> More tags will be added as we go along.  
> I don't own anything, all the credits go to the respective artist.

_(19 th century steampunk setting, King's Landing)_

 

Sansa gazed at the huge glass construction, even craned her neck although it wasn't ladylike to do so. Oh, her father's luxurious glass orangerie back in Winterfell was splendid, no doubt about that. But this! Gods, this was a palace made of glass and metal! Ah, her first trip with the Kingsroad Express Railway to the capital had already been impressive, what with all the steam and speed – but this here topped it all.

 

At her side, her father pointed with his grey-white walking cane.

“Now look at this modern design, Sansa!”

“It's spectacular,” she breathed.

Lord Stark knitted his brow under his black top hat.

“It's so overdone it borders on obscenity if you ask me. Then again, such a construction suits King's Landing. Now let's enter, I need to see all the new machines. Perhaps we can make use of some of them and purchase them. Arya, don't dawdle!”

“I'm here!”

 

Sansa noticed that her little sister was – if possible – even more mesmerised by the architechture in front of them than Sansa herself. Arya's eyes had taken on a glassy gleam – glassy like the countless window panes of the fair building. Oh, of course Arya would react so positively to new technical developments, tomboyish as she was.

 

“Ned, really, is it necessary to see this flashy spectacle? Why not just contact the producers and talk to them in a calmer environment?”

Lord Stark sighed and turned to his wife, then smiled.

“We both know how important this is, my dear. Now... can you help me with my tie? I think it's a tad too tight.”

Lady Stark smiled as well and asked, “What's in it for me if I help you now, love?”

The smile of her husband broadened.

“We'll talk about it later. – Right, thanks. Now on with all of you.”

 

Arya rolled up her eyes at her parents' short exchange, but Sansa didn't spare it a second thought. On she walked, always making sure not to trip over the hem of her beautiful new dress. The bustle didn't make progress for her any easier, but it did look beautiful on a lady.

 

Inside the construction, Sansa continued to gaze around and didn't know where to look first as there were so many details. Throngs of people were milling about, and there were gigantic constructions running on steam in every nook of the immense hall.

 

The first region to present its latest devlopments was the West. Sansa saw huge, aether-run vehicles whose function it was to mow the corn on the fields, or to cut off other kinds of crops; and these things could achieve the same much faster than even a big flock of human field workers.

Sansa noticed her father was only mildly intersted in this invention. It hardly came as a surprise since the North was mostly too cold for farming.

 

Sansa made a few steps down the path, deeper into the Western section of the hall. Accidentally, she picked up some words from two handsome young gentlemen, who were obviously visitors of the fair as well. They were wearing waistcoats with intricate embroidery that marked them members of the high nobility.

“I'm telling you, Renly – the man isn't trustworthy. Remember his bushy sideburns? You really can't rely on a man with bushy sideburns.”

 

Sansa blinked and perked up her ears, though a lady wasn't supposed to eavesdrop. She couldn't help it.

“ _Bushy sideburns? Why would bushy sideburns indicate a man's trustworthiness?”_ she asked herself.

From the corners of her eyes, she cast a second glance at the two men. They were standing very close together and were chuckling in low voices. One man had a mop of wild, black hair – surely, his servant had to have a hard time arranging it every day. The second gentleman had fair hair and was – if possible – even more good-looking than the other fellow.

The one whose name was Renly ran his hand through is dark locks.

“Only five minutes in, and it's sweltering already. I could think of far more interesting pastimes, Loras.”

The fair-haired man arched his eyebrow.

“If you complain that it's hot one more time, I'm going to give you a reason to sweat.”

 

Sansa's eyelids fluttered once more, and she blushed, even if she didn't know exactly why. Quickly, she snapped back into focuse and looked about herself.

“ _Oh, father is already at the next stall. I mustn't lose him and the others.”_

And sure enough, her father was a little ahead of her. He was talking to an elegant elderly man... and now, Sansa understood the previous comments about sideburns, for the elderly man was as bald as a polished egg... but he did have impressive golden-grey mutton shops.

 

Sansa watched the conversation while approaching the stall. She didn't understand the words yet, but she continued to ogle the elderly man. Sure, he was well past the prime of his youth and so serious it was intimidating – but his red-golden garb emblazoned with a roaring lion and his erect posture made him look quite formidable for his age.

 

Arya was already hovering about the stall, bouncing on the balls of her feet, and asking, “And this elevator is really safe, Lord Lannister?”

The man blew out the air through the nose. His eyes were an intense green, and Sansa thought that he resembled a judgemental feline.

“We've designed these elevators for our aether mines. Do you think I'd invest so much money into their development if I didn't deem them safe?”

Sansa's father spoke up then, “And would it be possible to use them above ground?”

“Are you thinking of a particular purpose, Lord Stark?”

“Indeed. I'm quite sure my brother Benjen could make good use of the construction at the Wall.”

 

Lord Lannister placed his hands on his back and cocked his head.

“We'd have to make some alterations to adapt the elevators for such a task, but it should pose no big problems.”

Then, the man's eyes moved and focused on Sansa... and Sansa noticed she had been staring at the lord's lips in a most improper way. It was just that she'd thought of how his lips weren't as wormy as the ones of his grandson. At once, Sansa's cheeks felt as if they were on fire. And... she came to understand Lord Lannister realised the scope of her ogling. It didn't cause the man to smile. Of course not.

He continued to talk to her father while returning Sansa's stare.

“You've never seen Casterly Rock, Lord Stark. Maybe, you and your family want to come over to my place to negotiate the details and specifics of your order. Of course, I'd give you the _grand tour_ as well.”

 

Somehow, there was an odd ring to the man's words if you knew what to listen for. Sansa's heart started to palpitate, and she developed a sudden interest in the tips of her laced bootees. From the corners of her eyes, she noticed her father turn his head and look at her.

“Ah, Sansa, there you are. Looks like I've just struck the first interesting deal. – Lord Lannister, thanks for your eloquent portrayal of these devices. I'll need some time to ponder it all. I'll contact you or your brother again when the time comes.”

 

Lord Stark and his family took their leave from the leader of the West. Sansa couldn't have pinpointed why, but she was relieved to go... even if a more curious fraction of her would have liked to linger some more. Sansa bit her lip.

“ _These two men, Loras and Renly... they were probably right. Perhaps it's not advisable to trust a man with bushy sideburns...”_

 


	2. Chapter 2

Only moments later, Sansa's mind abruptly returned to the world around her – namely when her mother called out, “Arya! Arya, where are you?”

Sansa looked about herself. No little sister nearby.

Lady Catelyn continued to quack, “ARYA! – Gods, Ned, where is she? Without a chaperone, her reputation will be ruined! She'll get compromised!”

 

Lord Stark cleared his throat.

“Cat, if you go on calling her name out aloud, everybody will know about her absence indeed.”

That shut up Sansa's mother effectively, though her eyes remained huge with worry.

 

Meanwhile, her father tried to calm down his wife.

“Ah, Cat, I'm sure she'll stay in plain sight of everyone so her reputation will be fine. The hall is packed with people – there are simply no dark corners where Arya could run into problems. And if anyone tried to approach her in an indecent way, our daughter would be capable of defending her virtue, rest assured.”

 

Lady Catelyn sighed, pinched the bridge of her nose, and said to her husband in a lower voice, “This is already getting too much for me. And, you know... I wish we weren’t out in public…”

In response to this, Lord Stark rubbed his wife's arm supportively.

“I know. But we won't be here forever. Now come on. Let's find our tomboyish younger daughter.”

 

As it was, Arya had drifted off to the exposition quarters of the Stormlands – and she was quite glad to be rid off her overprotective family for a moment. Soon enough, she came across the giant models of various steam-driven ships. Since Winterfell wasn't close to the seaside, Arya wanted to get some new knowledge about the latest maritime developments. Would she get seasick on one of these brand new paddle steamers, for example?

 

“Robert, this is the height of ridiculousness!” a voice suddenly screeched behind Arya, causing her to flinch and to turn around.

Ooops.

Arya's mouth opened a little.

Why – next to her were the king and queen, touring the fair! Though not a beauty expert herself, Arya guessed Queen Cersei would have been breathtaking in her elaborate dress and with a golden tiara in her hair – if not for the fact that she was frothing at the mouth.

King Robert was wearing a frock coat, a golden pocket watch, shiny shoes, and a golden ceremonial chain... and he positively looked as if he'd bitten into a lemon.

“Wife, yell at me again, and I'll give you a reason to scream.”

“Pah! Prove it! Or rather DON'T. As if you could make me scream. You could only cause me to moan in disgust and frustration, and you know it.”

 

In a way, Arya found the exchange fascinating, but her survival instinct told her that she should better stop listening and melt into the background. Monarchs didn't appreaciate people who witnessed any of their weaknesses. So Arya glided away from the arguing royal couple and wondered if any of their quarrelling would make it into the next tabloid gazettes. Gossip about the king's and queen's unhappy marriage abounded in the muckraking newspapers.

 

Once Arya believed herself to be safe, she had another look at the various exhibits. Then, a movement caught her eye, and she noticed a young man with a flat cap, black hair, and a greasy working overall. Somehow, he looked like a young, fit, less elegant copy of the king. He was in the process of lifting two big pails of coal. His muscles bulged.

 

Arya approached the worker and smiled.

“ _That outfit looks good on you. But I'm sure you’d also look good without the outfit.”_

That was what Arya thought. However, although she was bold, she refrained from saying it aloud. Instead, she went for a more harmless compliment.

 

“You're really strong,” she said to the worker.

The man looked at her and frowned.

“Got to be, m'lady.”

With a huffing sound, he placed the heavy coal next to the oven of a steam engine.

“Have you been working here for long?” Arya wanted to know.

The man scratched his head.

“Long enough, m'lady. I've been one of those who've erected this metal construction.”

He pointed at the steel girders of the glass palace, his voice sounding rife with pride.

Arya was truly impressed. The young man was obviously not afraid of heights then.

 

“DAUGHTER! There you are! Over here! At once!” her mother's voice rang out behind her back.

Arya screwed up her eyes. Next, she closed them and schooled her features before turning around to face her mother. At the same time, she realised the young worker was taking his leave so as to avoid some unjust punishment. Understandable, that. Still a pity. Arya would have liked to get to know him better.

 

In the given situation all she could do was to open her ears and to let her mother's extensive reprimand pass her brain unprocessed...

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for Sandor's potty mouth.

Sansa tried not to listen to her mother berating Arya for her short escape and rather strove to find an interesting distraction. Soon enough, she found one. They were entering the fair section of the Crwonlands, and all the capital's biggest enterprises were competing for the visitors' attention. Lord Stark and the others were promptly moving to a stall with an aether-driven printing press - something that would normally have fascinated Sansa immensely, when suddenly...

 

"Bloody hells, now that's a ridiculous vehicle if I've ever seen one!"

The exclamation came from a dark, gravelly voice, and Sansa's instincts told her that the man himself had to be dark and gravelly, too. When she looked around, she winced and realised that her first impression was all too true.

There was a dark-haired giant of a man with a heavy brow, a hooked nose, stormy eyes, and dark, long hair. He was wearing a long, black cloak around his shoulders and a heavy cylinder as if it were a reluctat concession to a minimum of decorum. The shocking point was, however, that one side of his face was badly burned and looked as if someone had tried to melt him. It was gruesome.

 

 _"Don't stare!"_ Sansa told herself at once, knowing it wouldn't be ladylike.

Instead, she tried to look elsewhere and focused on the object of the tall man's attention.

The man at the stall, a short fellow with a goatee, puffed up himself in indignation.

"THIS is the latest type of a monocycle, and the crown prince has just ordered one with the most luxurious gold filigree at the seat!"

"Flashy scrap heap," the tall man commented. "Nothing could be better than my old, big, black monocycle. It's so solid you could ride into battle with it. And if it bucks, you just use a screwdriver in the right place - done."

 

That was the moment when the burned man looked up and noticed Sansa. His lips moved upwards until the scarred corner of his mouth started to twitch.

"Want to go for a ride, girl?"

Sansa's eyes widened, and she blushed crimson.

"I'm sorry, my lord, I didn't mean to eavesdr-"

"I'm no lord," the scarred man cut her short, causing Sansa to wince. "I'm Sandor Clegane, the Prince Joffrey's head security man, and by the way: what I've got in my trousers is an aether pistol, in case you were wondering. I'm just telling this false kind of fowl here that the prince won't ride a vehicle that'll likely do nothing but tear off the prince's balls, because it's not secure enough. And you? Who are you? Wait, you must be a little bird who doesn't want to get her feathers ruffled by the slipstream of an open monobike."

The vendor continued to huff and puff, but the other man simply waved him off like a disgusting fly.

 

Sansa had gone rigid at Sandor Clegane's bold words.

"I'm Lady Sansa Stark."

"Oh, from the Tightbottom family in the north, is that the way of it?"

The prince's head security man was grinning even more, and Sansa thought she must have misheard, so outrageous was his comment.

 

Not knowing how to counter the insult, she bit her lip.

That caused Sandor Clegane to snort.

"Bite your pretty lips again, and I'll want to do it for you."

Sansa blinked.

"Bite?" was as eloquent an answer as she could utter.

 

The scarred man threw back his head and barked his laughter.

"Aye! I'm good at biting, you know? People also call me "the Hound". And I tell you, it's not only because of my old family sigil with three dogs on it."

Sansa cocked her head.

"Hounds are loyal and good partners - and not only in a hunt. You give them a nice bone to suck on, and they'll be so grateful. Our family sigil is a direwolf, and direwolves are canines, too."

Sandor Clegane palmed his face.

"The seven hells save me from clueless maids. I think you've got no idea what dogs can do to wolves."

Sansa was indeed confused.

"Direwolves are bigger and more powerful than dogs," she tried to reason.

Clegane coughed into his hand. Strangely enough, Sansa thought he had nice, strong fingers.

"Want to bet on it, little bird?"

"I don't gamble, my lord."

"I'm. No. Lord."

"But I AM," another dark voice spoke up.

 

Sansa turned around and smiled.

"Father! Won't you believe it? I've just got to know Prince Joffrey's head security man."

Eddard Stark was less than underwhelmed.

"He's got an important job, granted, but we don't associate with servants of his kind. Really, my daughters are running around like headless chickens today. Come on. Your mother is waiting."

 

Sansa sighed.

She turned around and said, "Goodbye, Lor-... Mr. Clegane. A pleasure to meet you."

The scarred man snorted in response and turned his back on her as if to inspect the monocycle again. Sansa was somewhat disappointed, and she continued to think of the man as she and her family finished the tour of the world fair. It was only partly because the man had been so rude.

 

When Arya told her of the aquaintance she had made during her escape, Sansa wondered why social differences counted to such an extent that as a noblewoman you weren't even expected to have a short conversation with a commoner. Even less a deeper contact on a friendly basis.

Sansa thought of Sandor Clegane again and wondered if she'd ever find out any details about the real power differences of dogs and direwolves...

... if the day would ever come when all people would be equals.


End file.
